Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy
by PsychGirl
Summary: A little lyrical misunderstanding leads to a new understanding between Jim and Blair


**Warnings**: slash ahead!

Written for Sentinel Thursday challenge #160 - mondegreen

A mondegreen is a misheard phrase or song lyric. You can find bunches of examples on the Internet. This has been one of my favorites for years, so when I started writing Sentinel slash fiction, I knew I had to work it into a story somehow...

* * *

_The more things change, the more they stay the same_, Blair thought. The bar had been through four owners in the past two years – one of them had lasted for only three months – and three major stylistic changes, but there hadn't been much change in the clientele. Of course, he guessed he couldn't be too critical, since he and Jim were regular visitors, and therefore part of that unchanged clientele. 

They liked coming to this bar because it was around the corner from the loft, and therefore within walking distance. No designated driver needed. Although there had been some nights that a seeing-eye dog might have been useful. But they'd managed, arms wrapped around each other's waists, laughing as they staggered home, supporting each other.

When they'd first started coming here, the bar was clinging to a late 80's fern-and-brass decor that made Blair feel like a yuppie and Jim complained made him feel old. That was replaced with a wood-and-brick "roadhouse" design that Jim liked, but made Blair feel faintly nervous, as if a motorcycle gang were going to bust in at any moment and trash the place. The third owner hadn't even bothered to attempt to make any changes; he had bought the place as a tax shelter and was gone as quick as he had come. The last guy to buy the place – well, he might have potential, Blair had to admit. He had kept the wood and brick, but had evolved it into a slightly more funky, more urban feel. And he had been owner for over nine months, which Blair thought might be a record.

They were sitting side-by-side in their usual place, in one of the round booths in the back; Jim because he preferred to sit with his back to the wall, and Blair because he liked being able to watch the other customers. Old habits died hard. He swept a practiced eye over the room, thinking about how he would write this up if it were a new society that he was observing, when he noticed the two women necking two booths in front of them.

He raised his eyebrows and shot a glance askance to his left, towards Jim, who was raising his beer bottle to his lips. He caught Blair's glance and responded by raising one eyebrow and shrugging his shoulders, which in Jim-speak could mean anything from "These kids today, Chief," to "Well, technically it's not illegal," but generally denoted lack of interest. Blair snuck another surreptitious glance at the two women. Great. If this was becoming a lesbian hangout it would be even less likely that he'd find suitable prospects for dating here.

Not that it really mattered all that much. His interest in dating had been seriously waning since – well, to be completely honest, since shortly after he had moved in with the tall, blue-eyed, gorgeous specimen of manhood that was Jim Ellison. He made a good show of it, to keep up appearances – and to keep his detective roomie from detecting anything untoward - but his heart wasn't really in it anymore. Or rather, his heart really wanted to be with someone else, a very specific someone. _Don't do this, Sandburg_, he told himself, aware of an ache so familiar that it seemed as if it was his constant companion nowadays. _Not here. Not now._

The thing was, he'd thought it would get better once he was working full time at the station. Being Jim's partner, working together, and living together as well…he'd thought that that would finally quell this inchoate longing inside him. But it hadn't. It had only made it worse. It was like being a starving man outside a five-star restaurant, desperate for a crust of bread while inches away people stuffed themselves like gluttons.

He sighed morosely and picked at the label on his beer bottle. The waiter – a young, pimply-faced kid who looked no older than 16 – stopped at their table. "Want another?" he asked. Jim shook his head, but Blair nodded and raised his nearly empty bottle. He resolutely ignored Jim's look as he drained the dregs. He knew it was his third beer. He could count. He very nearly had had a Ph.D., after all.

"I'm gonna go check out the jukebox," Jim said, unfolding his length from the booth. _I'm not gonna do it_, Blair thought, _I'm not gonna watch_, and then proved himself a liar. He gazed helplessly at Jim as he walked up to the battered jukebox with that slow, easy stride, that gait that spoke of feline grace and barely-leashed power. He leaned against the pillar in front of the jukebox, slim hips canted to the side, apparently contemplating the musical offerings. Blair sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. _You've got to stop this_, he told himself, _this is getting you nowhere fast_. He leaned back and rested his head against the back of the booth; closed his eyes briefly.

He felt Jim slide back into the booth next to him. _I guess he found something acceptable_, he thought. The opening strains of "Purple Haze" filled the room. Hendrix. One of Jim's few favorites.

The waiter arrived with Blair's beer, and took the empty bottle away. He lifted it and drank down a third in a single swig. Even afterwards, he was never able to put his finger on what exactly had prompted him to speak. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the years of wanting, or maybe it was the two gutsy women two booths in front of them that had given him the courage. Maybe it was all three.

"You know," he started, "I always wondered why people didn't make a big deal out of the fact that Hendrix was bi."

"What are you talking about, Chief?"

"The lyrics to this song. ''Scuse me while I kiss this guy.' In my opinion, he was making a pretty clear statement that he was bisexual."

Jim laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, Junior, but it's ''Scuse me while I _kiss the sky_', not 'kiss this guy'."

Blair shook his head. "No, he actually sang 'kiss this guy' at Woodstock, I think."

"Well, he may have sung that at Woodstock, Chief, but I remember the 60's, and I remember that the lyric was 'kiss the sky'."

Blair snorted. "Oh, yeah. _You_ remember the 60's. You were like, what, eleven? Twelve?"

"I was older than you," Jim said, pointing his beer bottle at him, "and, yes, I do remember them. Probably a hell of a lot better than if I had been ten years older."

"Well," Blair retorted, "I remember the 60's, too, not because I was there, but because my mom was, and she told me about it. She knew Jimi Hendrix, you know, and she's always said he was bi."

"No offense, Chief," Jim replied, "but I'm not exactly inclined to trust your mother on these sorts of things."

Blair fell silent at that, mainly because he was unable to think of a good comeback. It was true that Naomi often had a…flexible…approach to the truth. He took another drink of beer, surprised to realize that he suddenly felt annoyed, and was spoiling for a fight. He was just so tired of feeling this way, so tired of holding it all in, feeling like he was undercover all the time. "You know," he said, "there's nothing wrong with being bisexual."

Jim looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I never said there was."

"There's no reason a person couldn't be attracted to both men and women, you know, just maybe at different times, or even at the same time, depending on the man or woman."

"No reason."

"In fact, it connotes a greater acceptance of the diversity of human experience, if you ask me. Freud thought we were all bisexual to begin with, it was just civilization that forced people to choose heterosexuality in order to fit in."

"_Okay_, Chief, I see your point, can we drop this now?"

"I mean, it's not as if you could tell someone's sexuality just from looking at them. They don't all look alike or dress alike or wear signs or have to get a group tattoo or anything."

"Sandburg, what in the hell is with you tonight?"

"I'm just saying that we don't always know people as well as we think we do," Blair said, pointing a finger at Jim. "You know, it could be that one of your closest friends could turn out to be bisexual, and you'd never have known unless they said something."

Jim glared at him, then looked off across the bar, the muscle in his jaw jumping. _Oh, crap_, Blair thought, _now I've done it. I wanted a fight and now I've got it. This is gonna end with me getting my butt thrown out on the street_. He was about to open his mouth and apologize, try to pass it off as a weak attempt at humor, when Jim spoke.

"Look, don't be mad. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I…I just figured you'd freak out."

Blair decided to open his mouth, anyway, but, oddly enough, no words came out. Was Jim saying what he thought Jim was saying?

"You don't have to worry, it's not like I'm going to jump you while you're sleeping. And I don't mind if you bring your girlfriends back to the loft. It's your home, too, and I want you to feel comfortable there. Maybe you could just…let me know in advance, and I'll stay out, maybe see a movie that night, maybe go stay over at Steven's. Not that it would bother me or anything. I just don't…you should be able to have some privacy."

Blair just stared at him, mouth open, his heart suddenly in his throat.

"For Christ's sake, Sandburg, stop staring at me like I'm some kind of mutant or something." Jim said, in an annoyed tone.

Blair closed his mouth and swallowed. "You're not?" he asked.

Jim glared at him again. "Not what?"

"Not going to jump me while I'm sleeping? 'Cause I think I might like that."

Jim's eyes met his, the intense blue gaze startled and confused at first, but then slowly shifting into comprehension, and then into amusement, as the implications of their conversation sank in. Now Blair could see the heat, barely visible; strongly banked. He wasn't sure if it had always been there, unseen by him, or if Jim was only now comfortable enough to let him see it. Probably the latter. He held Jim's gaze, let a naughty grin split his face, let some of his own desire show in his eyes – damn, but it felt good, finally getting to let things out after all these years.

Jim answered with a slow, lazy smile and a look that made Blair shiver. _Well, I guess that worked_, he thought.

Blair slid around the booth until he was nose-to-nose with Jim. Jim still had that lazy, amused grin on his face, and Blair really wanted to make that disappear, so he put his hands on Jim's shoulders, tilted his head slightly and kissed Jim softly, experimentally. He felt a shudder ripple through Jim. That emboldened him to try again, and as Jim's mouth opened under his he slipped his tongue in. Beer, the chicken they'd had for dinner, faint taste of toothpaste, and underneath it all a fierce, cool flavor that was Jim's alone.

Suddenly Jim's arm was around his waist, and Jim's fingers were tangled in his hair, cradling his head, and Jim's tongue was stroking across his mouth, and he opened, helplessly, and Jim dove in, finding places that Blair didn't know he'd lost; reaching the deepest, darkest parts of him and caressing them gently into the light. His hands involuntarily clenched into fists, holding on to Jim's shirt like a drowning man with a life preserver. When they broke apart, he realized he was shaking slightly.

The waiter came by the table again, as if he were on automatic pilot. "Want another?" he said, robotically.

"No." Blair said, trying to catch his breath. "'Scuse me while I kiss this guy."

"Whatever," the waiter said. "But I think it's 'kiss the sky', dude."

Jim grinned, rubbing his thumb slowly along the stubble on Blair's jaw. "Thanks, but I think we've decided we like our version better."

"Oh, yeah," Blair breathed, grinning in return.


End file.
